Jim Baen’s Universe

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Jim Baen’s Universe Page 53

by Edited by Eric Flint


  “If?” Josh sa­id, pic­king up on the word that se­emed most im­por­tant in the con­ver­sa­ti­on.

  “Oh, we sho­uld be sta­ying he­re for a whi­le,” Jala sa­id, smi­ling.

  “Here, he­re?” Josh as­ked. “In the apar­t­ment?”

  “Yes, Josh,” Jala rep­li­ed. “He­re, he­re.”

  “Oh.”

  Josh was wor­king on swe­ar words. He knew so­me but he al­so knew bet­ter than to say them to his mot­her.

  ****

  School went on as scho­ol al­ways did. The bul­li­es stop­ped ta­king his lun­c­hes, sin­ce they ne­ver knew what they we­re go­ing to be la­ced with. The tran­si­ti­on pe­ri­od was… to­ugh. He en­ded up ha­ving to both bring a lunch and buy one a co­up­le of ti­mes. He had a re­al aver­si­on to ha­ba­ne­ro and an even wor­se aver­si­on to un­co­oked oy­s­ter sa­uce. He stop­ped get­ting be­at up so much, but that wasn’t the sa­me as ma­king fri­ends. He didn’t. Usu­al­ly he’d find at le­ast one per­son to hang out with, but not in this scho­ol.

  The scho­ol was in a sta­te of so­ci­etal flux; even Josh co­uld tell that. Most of the kids we­re from the lo­cal area and ten­ded to be the chil­d­ren of up-sca­le ur­ban pro­fes­si­onals. But a so­lid co­re had be­en tran­s­fer­red from an adj­o­ining scra­per, one that had mo­re than its sha­re of low-pay, se­mis­kil­led wor­kers and the­ir chil­d­ren. Josh co­uldn’t ma­ke fri­ends among the kids li­ke “him” be­ca­use they had all be­en go­ing to scho­ol to­get­her for ye­ars and had clo­sed ranks in pro­tec­ti­on aga­inst the “new” kids. Josh, by de­fa­ult, was con­si­de­red a “new” kid but the chil­d­ren of the re­la­ti­ve “po­or” had lit­tle or no use for so­me snotty bra­in. Ex­cept as a pun­c­hing bag.

  He fi­gu­red this out af­ter abo­ut a we­ek and qu­it trying. Most of the bul­lying ca­me from the low-class kids so he avo­ided them as much as pos­sib­le. It was a tig­h­t­ro­pe every day of scho­ol and it was we­aring him to a fraz­zle. No fri­ends in a scho­ol whe­re pe­op­le pretty much ig­no­red you was one thing. No fri­ends in one whe­re you ne­eded them to back you up was hell.

  He slo­uc­hed thro­ugh the do­or of the apar­t­ment and went to his ro­om, not even bot­he­ring to go by the kit­c­hen to try to cad­ge a snack. He had anot­her stu­pid wri­ting as­sig­n­ment due in the mor­ning and it was dri­ving him nuts. He’d fi­gu­red out that he co­uld use the plant to pa­int the words bet­ter than he co­uld ac­tu­al­ly wri­te them. He ac­tu­al­ly had the as­sig­n­ment me­med. All he ne­eded was a prin­ter but they cost li­ke a ga­zil­li­on cre­dits. The only one he co­uld get to was at scho­ol and he’d tri­ed the old “I wro­te it at ho­me and scan­ned it dod­ge” only to be told to go get the ori­gi­nal. What he ne­eded was a dog to eat his ho­me­work.

  He got out the pa­per he’d be­en wri­ting on, which had abo­ut a hun­d­red te­ars in it, and frow­ned. He re­al­ly, re­al­ly didn’t want to wri­te right now. It hurt his hands and he was em­bar­ras­sed by the way the words lo­oked. He kic­ked off his sne­akers, which ran to the clo­set and put them­sel­ves away, and then lay down on his flo­at bed, clo­sing his eyes and brin­ging up a bo­ok by so­me guy cal­led “Dic­kens.” It was re­al­ly old, al­most as old as Tar­zan, but it was pretty go­od.

  He ope­ned his eyes when his dad ca­me ho­me and pin­ged him to say hi. Then he clo­sed them aga­in un­til he he­ard the ma­gic word: “pro­j­ect.”

  He crept to the ro­om iris and put his ear aga­inst it. He co­uld he­ar them tal­king, fa­intly.

  “Nari…”

  “ Na­ri? Ac­com­pa­ni­ed?”

  “If we want. It’s a mi­ni­mum two ye­ar pro­j­ect.”

  “But… Na­ri? That’s…”

  “In the Pes­hawn sec­tor, I know. But the­re are so­me cho­ices. It’s eit­her do­ub­le my Ter­ra sa­lary or I can ta­ke one and a half with be­ne­fits. The be­ne­fits are ho­using al­lo­wan­ce for spo­use, a ge­ne­ro­us one, and a dri­ver. I can pro­bably swing an edu­ca­ti­on al­lo­wan­ce sin­ce the­re are no pub­lic scho­ols. The­re are tra­vel be­ne­fits, too. One tic­ket back to Ter­ra per ye­ar for myself and one on the odd six months to Cha­ron Sec­tor or equ­iva­lent for myself and fa­mily. You get to tra­vel, Jala; I know you’ve wan­ted to. And the pay is… gre­at.”

  “The pay wo­uld be gre­at and we ne­ed it; we’re ba­rely ke­eping up with the Vi­sam Card pay­ments. But… Na­ri… That’s sort of…”

  They mo­ved away to­wards the kit­c­hen and Josh frow­ned. “Na­ri.” What the hell, or whe­re the hell rat­her, was Na­ri?

  He ca­re­ful­ly ac­ces­sed the net. His pa­rents had all the usu­al fil­ters in pla­ce but lo­oking a pla­ce up wasn’t go­ing to get him in tro­ub­le. Un­less they ca­ught what he was lo­oking up. He ne­ver tal­ked abo­ut his eaves­d­rop­ping but when you didn’t know from one day to the next whe­re you we­re go­ing to be sle­eping, eaves­d­rop­ping be­ca­me a ha­bit.

  Nari… too many hits. Na­ri, pla­ce. No. Na­ri… ge­og­rap­hi­cal… Not­hing. Whe­re on Ter­ra was Na­ri? It didn’t ring a bell. Na­ri. Okay, just go thro­ugh them. Po­pu­lar sin­ger. Most of tho­se si­tes we­re bloc­ked for so­me re­as… oh. Woo-hoo!

  He spent a lit­tle ti­me ac­ces­sing so­me si­tes on the pop-sin­ger Na­ri Se­nes­ce­nes. Two ban­g­les and a fe­at­her, IN­DE­ED. My.

  But that didn’t tell him whe­re they we­re mo­ving. Or may­be mo­ving. Na­ri. What did Dad say? Pes­hawn? Ah. Na­ri. The Na­ri­ans. Try that.

  Nari, a pla­net in the Pes­hawn Sec­tor…

  WE’RE GOING OFF-PLANET!

  Oh, man, but lo­ok at tho­se na­ti­ves… UU­U­U­U­UG-LEE.

  ****

  “Nari is a pla­net in the Pes­hawn Sec­tor,” Josh sa­id, to­oling the da­ta and thro­wing up a ho­lo­pic of the sec­tor then ze­ro­ing in on Na­ri. “It’s a hot world which has a gre­en sun. It’s mostly arid-that’s dry li­ke a de­sert. The na­ti­ves are in­sec­to­id forms, ten ex­t­re­mi­ti­es, in­c­lu­ding two true arms and two fal­se arms, a cur­ved he­ad sort of li­ke a ba­na­na…”

  When he’d told his so­ci­al stu­di­es te­ac­her whe­re they we­re go­ing she’d as­ked him to do a pre­sen­ta­ti­on for the class. And her­self. With as many pla­nets as we­re known to Ter­ra, she co­uldn’t ke­ep up with all of them. The te­ac­her se­emed in­te­res­ted but most of the kids we­re bo­red. Un­til he got to the next bit.

  “The Na­ri­ans rep­ro­du­ce by im­p­lan­ting the­ir eggs in mam­mal­form hosts,” he sa­id, sho­wing a vi­deo of the im­p­lan­ta­ti­on. The Na­ri­an lo­oked so­met­hing li­ke a gi­ant wasp and the ovi­po­si­tor it ex­ten­ded ap­pe­ared to be abo­ut two me­ters long. “When the eggs hatch, the ba­bi­es eat the­ir way out of the hosts…” And, su­re eno­ugh, the­re was a tri­dee of the yo­ung Na­ri­an bur­s­ting out of the si­de of a thing that lo­oked li­ke a six leg­ged cow.

  “Oh, gross!” “Co­ol!” “Are you go­ing to get eaten, Josh?”

  “Okay, Josh,” the te­ac­her sa­id, hur­ri­edly, shut­ting off the vi­deo as the baby Na­ri­an ex­ten­ded a la­bi­al pro­be and be­gan rip­ping chunks out of the shud­de­ring for­mer host. “Thank you very much for that… in­te­res­ting pre­sen­ta­ti­on…”

  “The To­olecks had a war with them abo­ut fifty ye­ars ago…” Josh con­ti­nu­ed.

  “That’s eno­ugh, Josh.”

  ****

  Josh had only be­en at a spa­ce­port a co­up­le of ti­mes be­fo­re. They’d shut­tled up to vi­sit his Na­na in one of the or­bi­tal nur­sing ho­mes on­ce and had a va­ca­ti­on on the Ter­ra­for­med Mars co­lony. Ot­her than that, all his tra­ve­ling had be­en on Ter­ra and most of that by air­car.

  But now he­re he was in the Bo­wan Spa­ce­port, get
­ting re­ady to he­ad to Na­ri via To­olecks. All he knew abo­ut To­olecks was that the pe­op­le the­re we­re one of Ter­ra’s sta­un­c­hest al­li­es and they had fi­ve eyes. They all spo­ke Ter­ran with a funny ac­cent, but it was go­ing to be ne­at.

  “You’re go­ing to be well over gross cu­ba­ge, ma’am,” the car­go-bot sa­id as the flo­ater tran­s­fer­red the­ir bags to the con­ve­yor.

  “Check our re­cord,” Jala rep­li­ed po­li­tely, as if the mac­hi­ne was a hu­man. “We’re cle­ared for ex­cess cu­bic.”

  Mom had bo­ught him gobs of clot­hes be­ca­use she didn’t know what she co­uld get in Na­ri. Not only clot­hes that fit but so­me that we­re too big so he co­uld grow in­to them. It ma­de a res­pec­tab­le pi­le of bags.

  After they got cle­ared by the bag­ga­ge han­d­ling system Mom he­aded for the ga­tes. They pas­sed thro­ugh the se­cu­rity tun­nel, then down a bo­un­ce tu­be to the lo­wer le­vels. That was when Josh star­ted to pick out the ali­ens.

  There was a gro­up of spi­der­li­ke Gran­tin, clus­te­ring to­get­her as if to avo­id the hor­rib­le mam­mal­forms aro­und them. The­re was a tall, spindly Ba­rick, stri­ding thro­ugh the crowd wa­iting for the tram. A co­up­le of To­olecks, short and lob­s­ter­li­ke with fi­ve eyes ex­ten­ded on eye-stalks, wa­ving the­ir man­dib­les and clac­king away in To­ol.

  There we­re mo­re. Ha­rons and Sj­og­lun and Be­eto­ids and Na­lo and… too many to co­unt and in all dif­fe­rent sha­pes, si­zes and co­lors. It was just so co­ol.

  Dad jo­ined them as the grav tram ar­ri­ved. He’d be­en held up by a ping from his ho­me-of­fi­ce. But they got on the tram to­get­her, ca­re­ful to ta­ke the oxy-nit­ro­gen sec­tor one, and he­aded for the out-ter­mi­nal.

  “Problem?” Jala sa­id as they hung on­to the grab bars. The­re was a sta­bi­li­za­ti­on fi­eld so tho­se we­re mo­re for psycho­lo­gi­cal be­ne­fit than an­y­t­hing.

  “Bank of He­te­ran wo­uldn’t ta­ke the tran­s­fer,” Ste­ve rep­li­ed, shrug­ging. “So we’re go­ing to be pa­id thro­ugh Bank of Don­lon on To­oleck. Not a prob­lem, the­re’s a branch in He­te­ran and you can ac­cess from an­y­w­he­re on Na­ri. But you’d bet­ter get used to the fact that Na­ri uses mo­re physcreds than Ter­ra or To­oleck. They’ve got a lo­cal mo­ney cal­led the ra­yel and they me­an re­al mo­ney. She­ets with the lo­cal ru­ler’s fa­ce gra­ved on them.”

  “How… in­te­res­ting,” Jala sa­id, her eyes wi­de­ning.

  “You can carry eno­ugh to get aro­und in yo­ur po­uch,” Ste­ve sa­id, shrug­ging. “And ho­tels and things in He­te­ran will ta­ke Vi­sam or a Bank of Don­lon… well it’s a pi­ece of plas­t­rip with wri­ting on it cal­led a ‘che­que.’ You fill in how much mo­ney you’re pa­ying them and then thumb it. Hand it over to them and it’s li­ke do­ing a trans but you ha­ve to ke­ep track of them so you don’t over­d­raw the ac­co­unt. We’ll pick so­me up in To­oleck whi­le we’re the­re and I’ll get one of the­ir comps to ex­p­la­in it to you. Bank of Don­lon ‘che­qu­es’ are ac­cep­ted in so­me of the stran­gest pla­ces.” He pa­used and grin­ned. “Wel­co­me to the Outer Li­mits, ho­ney.”

  “Hey, Dad?” Josh sa­id. “Can I get so­me of tho­se ra­yel?”

  “We’ll see, squ­irt,” Ste­ve sa­id, rub­bing his he­ad. “We’ll see. You’re go­ing to be in a dif­fe­rent part of the ship from us, Josh, you know that?”

  “I am?” Josh sa­id, his eyes wi­de­ning.

  “Yes, you’re go­ing to be up front,” Jala rep­li­ed. “I’m go­ing to be ri­ding with yo­ur fat­her in the back. Don’t worry; you’ll be fi­ne.”

  “Okay,” Josh sa­id as the tram pul­led in­to the R ter­mi­nal. They got out and went up anot­her bo­un­ce tu­be to the ter­mi­nal then thro­ugh an emig­ra­ti­on scan­ner to en­su­re they we­ren’t car­rying any of the fo­ur­te­en bil­li­on, one hun­d­red and twenty three mil­li­on known forms of rep­li­ca­ting bi­olo­gi­cals and ha­zar­do­us nan­ni­tes. The scan­ner buz­zed on a Sj­og­lun ahe­ad of them and the flo­or ope­ned up un­der the lar­ge ca­ter­pil­lar­li­ke cre­atu­re, drop­ping it in­to a bo­uce tu­be and down to the me­di­cal qu­aran­ti­ne fa­ci­lity.

  “No dan­ger, ma’am,” the Yo­uto­on be­et­ling the ter­mi­nal shril­led by rub­bing two of his back legs to­get­her. “Just a mi­nor ca­se of Pur­p­le Spot Fe­ver. Not con­ta­gi­o­us to Ter­ra­o­ids. Mo­ve along, ple­ase.”

  ****

  When they re­ac­hed the ga­te area they to­ok a tu­be to the Gam­ma bo­ar­ding le­vel for oxy-nit­ro­gen, 10 kps gra­vity, tra­ve­lers. Then his mom led him over to a ro­ped off sec­ti­on.

  “This is my son, Josh,” Jala sa­id to the To­oleck at­ten­dant. “He’s bo­ar­ding in first class, oxy-nit­ro­gen Ter­ra/To­oleck mix.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Par­ker, I ha­ve the no­te in my me­mory,” the To­oleck sa­id, ben­ding down to Josh’s le­vel and wa­ving all fi­ve eyes at him. “Hel­lo, Josh. Is this the first ti­me you’ve be­en in a spa­ces­hip?”

  “Nah,” Josh sa­id, puf­fing up his chest. “I’ve be­en to the or­bi­tal co­lo­ni­es and Mars be­fo­re!”

  “We’re go­ing to To­oleck for a co­up­le of days,” Jala sa­id ner­vo­usly. “Then on to Na­ri.”

  “Nari!” the at­ten­dant sa­id, whis­t­ling thro­ugh his bre­at­hing sno­ut. “That’s a long way, Josh, ne­arly six tho­usand light ye­ars! You’re go­ing to ha­ve fun, aren’t you!”

  “That’s right,” Josh sa­id. “And I get to stay out of scho­ol till we find a ho­use!”

  “Always a ple­asu­re,” the To­oleck sa­id, whis­t­ling in hu­mor. “We’ll ta­ke go­od ca­re of him, Mrs. Par­ker. Josh, why don’t you sit over by that Sj­og­lun over the­re whe­re I can ke­ep an eye on you.”

  “Okay,” Josh sa­id, skip­ping over to the se­at.

  The Sj­og­lun was abo­ut the si­ze of a rhi­no­ce­ros and lo­oked so­met­hing li­ke a gray ca­ter­pil­lar, with a ta­pe­red ta­il and he­ad. It had ten stubby legs that we­re stret­c­hed ac­ross two sets of con­for­mab­le cha­irs and eig­h­te­en mo­re stubby pse­udo arms ran­ging from abo­ut the length of a hu­man fo­re­arm ne­ar the ba­se to very small ones the si­ze of a hand at the up­per qu­ad­rant. It was roc­king back and forth with all fo­ur­te­en com­po­und eyes on short, ret­rac­tab­le, eyes­talks wa­ving in dif­fe­rent di­rec­ti­ons and ap­pe­ared to be as­le­ep.

  “Hi!” Josh sa­id, jum­ping in­to the se­at next to it and le­aning back as the se­at fi­gu­red out his squ­irmy body con­for­ma­ti­on. “I’m go­ing to To­oleck! My na­me’s Josh!”

  “We are all go­ing to To­oleck, yo­ung Ter­ran,” the Sj­og­lund grun­ted, whis­t­ling fa­intly from spi­cu­les along the si­de by Josh and ro­ta­ting a han­d­ful of eyes in his di­rec­ti­on. “And my na­me is…” it let out a com­p­lex whis­t­le.

  Josh tri­ed to whis­t­le the na­me and then ga­ve up.

  “I’m just gon­na call you Pilly, okay?” Josh sa­id. “I can’t say that na­me.”

  “That is fi­ne yo­ung Ter­ran,” the Slog­lund rep­li­ed. “Few Ter­rans can. And how old are you, yo­ung Ter­ran?”

  “I’m ten!” Josh sa­id. “I’m in fifth gra­de. Well, not right now, I’m out of scho­ol un­til we get to Na­ri and find a ho­use!”

  “Ten!” the Sj­og­lund sa­id, whis­t­ling from both si­des of his body. “Why, you are ba­rely a grub! When I was ten, I had not yet co­me of mind. You are lucky to be tra­ve­ling so yo­ung, Ter­ran. The­re is much you can le­arn, in scho­ol or out of scho­ol.”

  “I gu­ess,” Josh sa­id. “Hey, what’s Pur­p­le Spot Fe­ver?”

  “Why?” the Sj­og­lund sa­id, sus­pi­ci­o­usly.

  “The guy in front of me at se­cu­rity had it,�
� Josh sa­id and was ama­zed at the spe­ed with which the mas­si­ve cre­atu­re co­uld mo­ve. “Ni­ce tal­king to you!” Josh yel­led at the ret­re­ating form. “Bye!”

  ****

  Josh wat­c­hed the world dwin­d­ling in­to spa­ce un­til the stars be­gan to mo­ve fas­ter and fas­ter. Just as pro­mi­sed, the ones to the front got red and the ones to the re­ar got blue and then they va­nis­hed. What was left was a swir­ling pur­p­le li­ke the stuff you got with yo­ur eyes clo­sed if you we­ren’t re­ading or me­ming or so­met­hing.

  “Ladies, gen­t­le­men, ne­uters and?T*Re­en,” the cap­ta­in sa­id in a clip­ped For­doss Ga­lac­ti­ca ac­cent. “The ship has en­te­red hyper­s­pa­ce and you may now un­buc­k­le yo­ur res­t­ra­ints and fe­el free to mo­ve abo­ut the ca­bin. Ple­ase ke­ep mi­ni­mal res­t­ra­ints in pla­ce when se­ated in ca­se we en­co­un­ter sub­s­pa­ce tur­bu­len­ce or black ho­les.”

  Josh tap­ped the com­mand and the en­ve­lo­ping body co­ver ret­rac­ted in­to the se­at. Then he le­aned the se­at back and clo­sed his eyes. It was a pretty go­od bo­ok but it had be­en a long day and even­tu­al­ly he went to sle­ep.

  3: When In Ro­me

  “Excuse me, yo­ung sir,” the To­oleck sa­id, prod­ding at his arm.

  Josh ope­ned his eyes and lo­oked out the win­dow but they we­re still in hyper­s­pa­ce.

  “Mwuff?” he sa­id, sit­ting up. “Sorry, I must ha­ve fal­len as­le­ep.”

  “Here is a hot to­wel,” the To­oleck sa­id. “Din­ner will be ser­ved in a few cycles.” It was ap­pa­rently a To­oleck fe­ma­le, slightly lar­ger than the ma­les and less or­na­te in body et­c­hing with the blue and gre­en styli­zed star­s­hip of To­oleck Spa­ce­ways gra­ved on her ca­ra­pa­ce. She han­ded him a to­wel and then tur­ned to the se­ats ac­ross the ais­le from him con­ti­nu­ing her ser­vi­ce.

 

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